


Lightheaded

by thewinterspy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bratty Little Brothers, Fainting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinterspy/pseuds/thewinterspy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an intense crime is solved by the gang, Mycroft faints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightheaded

**Author's Note:**

> Anna prompted me with #38: "You fainted straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes."

"… care of it. Where’s his phone?"

 

"I don’t have his phone."

 

"Sherlock."

 

"Did you check his pockets?"

 

"I’m not going to pat down your brother-!"

 

"Why, because you want to?"

 

"I- Jesus Christ, I’m not having this conversation with you."

 

"Good, because he’s up."

 

"What-"

 

Mycroft blinked once, twice, blearily taking in his surroundings with the speed of a snail. The lights of the dismal office seared his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, covering his eyes with his knuckles before looking around again. His legs slid off the bench, and he propped himself up on an elbow.

 

"Easy, slow down."

 

He shook his head slowly, trying to remember where he was. Scotland Yard, yes, there were logos blazed across walls, desk fronts, mugs, obvious enough, but before. There was no pain, so he wasn’t attacked. No, attack was unlikely, not in the middle of the police headquarters. Far morely likely was a fainting spell. It wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last time.

 

He looked up at the person speaking, and saw Dr. Watson moving towards him, hand stretched out in warning. Leaning slightly, he could see his brother moving in the opposite direction, shoulders slumped.

 

"I fainted," Mycroft said numbly, following the doctor’s orders as he slowly moved into a sitting position.

 

Dr. Watson crouched in front of him, hands placed between his bent knees, as if he was making eye contact with a child. His lips pinched together for a long moment, before he explained, “Yeah, outside. Lestrade was finishing up the arrest, you got up, I guess too fast and you, ah, you fainted,” he tilted his head, his mouth quivering as he suppressed a grin, “straight into my arms.”

 

Mycroft paused for a moment, before letting out a soft groan, putting his forehead into his hand. Watson cracked a grin at his embarassment, pressing on.

 

”You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” The doctor was ever so fond of teasing. Bloody bastard.

 

"I have a condition," Mycroft insisted.

 

"Oh, you certainly do."

 

The two men looked up. Sherlock was standing over them, looking as if he was just told to muck a stable and the horses were particularly productive that day. He held out a glass of water, which Watson nodded for him to hand over to Mycroft. The older Holmes took it before Sherlock got any ideas about tipping it or throwing it or whatever childish antic he would dish out in response to being bossed around.

 

"Making a full recovery?" Sherlock asked.

 

"There’s no need for recovery or-" he sent an uneasy glance to Dr. Watson, who was still in front of him, looking up with those large eyes, "doctors. I assure you, I am fine."

 

"You sure?" Dr. Watson asked, a solemn note hitting his tone. Mycroft refused to make eye contact. Slowly yet surely, his senses were returning to him, and every nerve was singing about the way the doctor looked at him.

 

"Yes. I should talk to Detective Inspector-"

 

"Paperwork’s done," Sherlock sighed impatiently, "John took care of it. If you’re not coming back tonight, at least cough up money for the cab fare."

 

"Can you give it a minute Sherlock-" John snapped, but Mycroft quickly interrupted.

 

"Yes, it’s time for me to go too. I’m afraid your patient is signing himself out, Dr. Watson. You can go home," Mycroft set aside the water, glad for a reason not to touch any his brother got for him, even if it came straight from a trap - a tap.

 

John nodded, his face betraying the disappointment he felt (a rather shoddy doctor, wishing his patient more illness?). He opened his mouth, and closed it, knowing better, and getting to his feet. Mycroft took hold of the arm rest that had been his pillow, and got up as well.

 

"I should thank you for your assistance, Dr. Watson," Mycroft said, letting his business voice settle into its usual place.

 

"Alright then, go on," the doctor said, stashing his hands in his pockets.

 

Mycroft blinked at him, “That was it.”

 

"Right," John glanced at Sherlock, who had rolled his eyes and flounced off, then back to Mycroft, "Right then. Best to call your driver-"

 

"It’ll be done."

 

"Make sure you get home safe-"

 

"That’ll be arranged."

 

"Get some food in you-"

 

"I do believe I did just ‘signed myself out’ of your service, Dr. Watson," Mycroft said quickly, casting his gaze about for his umbrella that he liked to keep on hand."

 

John let out a slow breath, “Maybe I’m just worried, s’all.”

 

He really did need that umbrella, his legs were going wobbly again. Mycroft let out a breath that emptied his lungs, and it was like the wind knocking him off balance. His knee gave way, and he slid sideways. John hastily grabbed his arm and set him straight, his free hand moving around Mycroft’s waist.

 

"Ok, so I have good reason to be worried," he scoffed.

 

The comforting pressure of being held made Mycroft think about blankets at night. He made himself think instead about boa constrictors squeezing the life of out their prey. John helped him sit down again, brushing off imaginary lint on his suit before letting go finally, making space between them. Mycroft squirmed for a moment, his tongue testing unfamiliar words before letting out something genuine.

 

"Thank you."

 

John smiled at that, “No problem. Don’t- don’t mind at all.”

 

"Good. I suppose I ought to-"

 

John gestured, speaking over him, “Call someone, yeah. Anthea, or, ah-”

 

"-Ask you to help me to my car."

 

"Oh." The doctor nodded slowly, as if he was the one recovering from a fainting spell, then looked at Mycroft’s face for a long moment. His brow furrowed as he sounded out the word, "Oh?"

 

"I’m telling you that I wouldn’t mind," Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment, huffing out a laugh, before opening them again, "Wouldn’t mind being a patient of yours. For a little while longer."

 

"Oh," John’s surprised look immediately melted into a wolfish grin, "Yeah, I- I do believe I can help you with that."

 


End file.
